


Enjoying the little things

by silvercolour



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Asexual Character, Bathing/Washing, Bed-sharing, Cuddling, Fluff, Hair Washing, Kissing, M/M, Now with flashbacks to before ep 180, Post-MAG180, Set in Episodes 180-181 | Upton Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Tea Drinking, no hurt only comfort, which continue to be nothing but fluff bc I cannot be stopped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: Five things they’ve had to miss during the Apocalypse, and the one thing they had all along: each other.POST MAG180 5+1
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 24
Kudos: 140





	1. Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I already wrote a fluffy post-MAG180 fic, but I just want them to be happy so I’m writing more.

There have been a lot of things they’ve had to miss since the start of this whole mess. Things both big and small, normal and used-to-be-unusual, like birdsong, and hot meals, and even _going to work._ And the peaceful mornings they had in Scotland. Jon has missed those the most, he thinks.

Those soft, sunrise mornings, with the light breaking from behind the too-short curtains and into their bedroom. Those blissful moments of nothing where one of them would wake, and just stay in bed, and stare at the other. At least, Jon thinks they both did that. Jon was usually the first to wake, and definitely indulged himself in doing nothing but watching Martin sleep. The rare times when he woke to find Martin already awake it seemed he’d been doing the same thing, a soft smile and a soft look thrown across the pillows, followed by an equally soft: “G’morning Jon.”

This lack had been a only a gentle longing, in recent times. They’d had too little time to get used to it, and after the world went wrong there were other things to worry about, other things to miss. They might not be able to wake up next to each other, but at least they didn’t have to miss each other either. There was no waking, as there was no sleeping Out There, but they were awake together, walking together, traveling together (Martin had once called in questing, in an attempt at humour to distract himself from the too-quiet surroundings between domains).

Still, they are no longer Out There, and instead in a place Jon can only define as Somewhere Else. And here, right now, they are in a bedroom. The curtains are drawn shut, and unlike those in Scotland they let through none of the light that must be shining outside, judging by the energetic birdsong. Instead the room is lit by their bedside lamps, tiny would-be candelabra that stretch their arms and lights into the room.

These lights were on when Jon woke, as if someone had intended for him to see (if not See) that this was a Perfectly Normal Room. He doesn’t know how they arrived here, but in the warm nest of blankets Jon cannot find it in himself to worry, or to go looking for the trap they must be in.

All he can do, all he ever wants to do, is to gaze at Martin, who still sleeps next to him. His soft curls have grown too-long in the time they spent Out There, and it is only with an extreme effort of willpower that Jon does not reach out to stroke those curls, or to brush them out of Martin’s face.

Martin’s breathing is even, and he looks oh-so-much younger without the constant weight and presence of any fear. He’s curled in on himself, taking up more than his own half of the bed it seems to Jon, duvet tugged firmly up to his ears. Even in sleep, even relaxed, he looks determined to make the best of the situation. And if the situation gives him a warm bed and soft blankets, he would not refuse those.

Something that might be hunger is pulling on Jon’s stomach. It is an unfamiliar hunger, a thing from before; from a time when he consumed food, instead of knowledge. Jon ignores it. He will not risk waking Martin, not for his own comfort. Instead he watches, and waits.

After a long and not-long-enough time Martin begins to wake. Jon knows the signs well. This is one of his favourite parts. 

Martin scrunches his eyes, and then his nose. Slips a hand free from the warmth of the blankets and rubs at his eyes. A minute quirk of his eyebrows betrays the sleepy surprise at his grown-long hair. Then he drops his hand to the pillow, and Jon knows what will happen next.

What will happen next is for Martin to wake up properly, and for Jon to stop pretending that everything is fine. He wishes dearly that they might stay forever, and live in this single moment between waking and dreaming and nightmares. He should feel happy, lucky, grateful even, to have the chance to see this again. He thought he might never again get this chance. Instead there is only the hollow feeling that sadness brings.

Martin opens his eyes. For a single, quiet moment they stare at each other, and in that moment many things unspoken are heard, are understood. Without saying a thing Martin seems to have picked up on his sadness, and its cause. He smiles a small smile at Jon, and reaches a hand across the bed to cup Jon’s cheek. That smile is as sad as Jon feels, and yet. It speaks of bravery as well, of determination. They can do this, and they can do it together, Martin’s smile says. Martin thumb stroking his face says: _we’ll do things our way– let them wait for us_.

And when Martin speaks, he speaks as though they are still safe in Scotland, hidden and together. As though nothing has happened at all, he says: “G’morning Jon.”


	2. Tea, maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to get all 5+1 ready before MAG181 airs, but real life is making that hard- still, here’s chapter 2 along with the first chapter! The others will follow as soon as I can get them finished and edited^^

It takes them a while to leave the comfort of the bed. They lie there, doing nothing much besides staring into each other’s eyes, legs intertwined and foreheads touching. Eventually, it is Martin who finds a reason to get up.

Across the room, on top of an old-looking dresser, stands a tray. On this tray wait a pair of flowery tea cups, turned upside down on their saucers. They guard a big and horrendously orange tea cosy, which, presumably, hides something that might be tea. Martin really, _really_ hopes that it’s tea. Even bad tea. Any tea at all would be perfect atthis point. He’s only a little desperate.

Jon hums a token protest when Martin gets up from the bed, but doesn’t say anything. He has followed Martin’s eyes to the orange monstrosity, and knows what Martin is hoping to find under it. Padding softly across the carpet, Martin approaches the tea cosy with more wariness than a tea cosy usually deserves. The tea cosy remains exactly where it is.

Very slowly, Martin pulls the cosy up, and off the teapot. The teapot’s pattern matches the cups in their floral-ness. When Martin reaches out a hand–not touching it, not quite yet– he can feel the heat emanating from the teapot. Ever so gently he takes hold of the lid, prepared to let it drop in an instant, tea splatter or breaking porcelain be damned.

Lifting it he finds... something he hopes could be tea. Upon smelling it, it also smells like tea. Looking inside the teapot, it definitely looks like tea, a few loose leaves still floating in it. Martin turns back to Jon, who has sat up in bed: “I– I think it might be tea, Jon.”

Jon’s eyes are wide, more so than those words deserve. He nods across the room and says: “Let me have a look.”

Martin fills the two cups with tea, and replaces the Very Orange tea cosy over the pot– no use letting it go cold if it should happen to be _real tea_ , and no harm done if it isn’t. He ignores the saucers, and carries both cups back to the bed. 

Jon is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed when Martin hands him his tea. He sits down on the edge of the bed himself, and cradles the cup. If nothing else, it’s warmth is very welcome. Carefully, he smells the tea again, and decides it must be a breakfast blend, something robust enough to wake you up.

On the bed, Jon has been staring into his cup. He, too, cradles it in both hands, absorbing the heat like a hothouse flower might. A frown is growing on his face, however. Eventually he heaves a sigh and brings the cup to his lips. Before Martin can do more than yell: “ _Jon_!” he has taken a sip.

Jon’s eyes widen, and Martin can’t tell if that is because he’s drinking tea, or because the cup was perhaps secretly filled with spiders all along. Then Jon is laughing, and looking at his tea as though it has performed a miracle.

“It’s tea– I really think it’s tea, Martin,” Jon laughs, exultant.

Such levity from Jon was rare even before… Everything that happened, but Martin can feel an answering laugh bubbling in his own chest. Still, they can’t just ignore where they are, or what’s been happening outside, so he tries to be firm: “Did you really have to _drink_ the thing that you didn’t know was tea?”

“I really did have to drink it, Martin,” Jon visible makes an effort to calm down, but the joyous looks he keeps giving the tea don’t stop, his eyes drawn to it like it’s magnetic. “I couldn’t tell, I still cannot See anything in this place. And, well…” Jon trails off, and suddenly he’s not looking at Martin.

“And what, Jon? Please, just tell me if there’s something I should be worried about–“ Martin begins, but Jon interrupts him.

“No– no, nothing to be worried about. It’s just, well, I figured, if drinking it is the only way to be sure, I thought it had better be me drinking it. Just in case.”

“Oh, Jon,” Martin wants to kiss him, or perhaps shake some sense into this danger-prone man he’s fallen in love with. “Warn me next time, maybe? Before you drink any unknown substances?”

Jon’s smile is bashful as he nods: “I will. Now let’s drink this tea before it grows cold, shall we?”

They sip their tea, there on the bed, and when they’ve finished their first cups Martin brings over the teapot with its Monster-cosy, and in silence they drink the entire pot of tea, savouring every sip of it.


	3. The Importance of Being Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos so far- you make writing an absolute joy!
> 
> This chapter is for the lovely free_smarcher, who wanted more bathing fics; I hope you enjoy this one!

After the tea it takes them a while to start moving. They simply sit together on the bed for a time, as the heat seeps out of the emptied tea cups. It is only when the cups have gone stone cold that Jon starts fidgeting. It’s time, he feels, even if he’s entirely uncertain what it is time for. The lack of knowledge isn’t nearly as exciting as it was yesterday.

“We should get ready, I guess, shouldn’t we?” Martin asks him, eyeing his restlessness.

“I suppose we should,” Jon sighs. “First though, we’ll need to find our things,” he looks down at the shirt(very worn) and trousers(ripped, and decidedly not clean) he’s still wearing. He is missing, in no particular order:

-his hiking boots;

-his jumper (that Martin knitted for him in Scotland, and which had better be returned to him unharmed);

-his coat;

-his backpack;

-and the knowledge of where these things might have gone.

An investigation of the room yields only their backpacks, and the few spare clothes still packed in them (none of which are entirely clean). The room also has two doors. By unspoken agreement they have tried opening neither of these until they completed their search of the room proper.

Martin keeps following him around the room, and Jon can tell Martin is waiting for him to make a decision. Through their travels it was always Jon leading the way, Jon making the decisions, because he knew where to go, and what to do. Even now, when Jon cannot see anything beyond the striped wallpaper covering the room. Even now Martin trusts him to make the decisions.

So he does.

The wall against which their bed stands has one door. The wall facing the curtained windows has another, identical door. The second one is likely to lead to a corridor, and onwards, further away from this safe haven. The door next to the bed might lead to an adjoining room, where their curious hosts await them. It might also be a walk-in closet, containing their missing clothing. Jon chooses that door, and opens it.

Over his shoulder, he hears Martin, right behind him, breathe an “oh” of surprise. Because Jon was wrong. Behind the door is neither a closet, nor their hosts. Behind this door is a _bathroom._

It’s the kind of bathroom you can only fit in a house with too much space, the kind he had not expected to find in a possibly-national-trust-House like the one they seem to be in right now. It’s _huge_ and very modern, with black marble floors and a shower built like a waterfall that could easily fit them both.

“ _Oh_ ,” is all he can say, as they both stand there for a moment, frozen in disbelief. Then Martin softly jostles his shoulder: “Knew I could trust you to lead the way, Jon.” Martin’s grin is huge, and delighted, and Jon can feel his own smile grow in response.

“C’mon, let’s get clean!” Martin takes his hand and drags him inside. Jon locks the door behind them, although he’s not sure why he bothers. It probably wouldn’t stop anyone who really wanted to get in. Still, it’s old habits, and a sense of privacy gained.

Turning around he finds Martin pulling out what looks like more fluffy white towels than anyone could ever need from the cupboards underneath the sink. Martin has to take several steps (multiple, whole steps! From the sink to the door, not even traversing the entire bathroom– the difference with his London apartment bathroom is staggering) to hand him his own towels.

Jon looks at the clean white fabric, and then at Martin, suddenly unsure. They haven’t _not_ done this before, but that was only because they both wanted to shower together, and– well. This feels different. “Martin, I– shall I wait outside?”

Martin’s face goes through a very quick succession of concern-sad-determined and ends up with a look Jon doesn’t have a word for, other than to describe it as _soft._ “I’d rather not lose sight of you? If that’s okay?” He waits for Jon to nod. “But I was also kind of hoping you might join me?”

“Ah,” for no reason at all Jon finds himself throwing a glance over his shoulder, as if checking that no one can see them here. “I’m sorry Martin, I uhm, don't really feel up to any kind of–” 

His face must have betrayed the direction of that sentence somehow, because Martin quickly interrupts him: “Gods, no, Jon I don’t mean anything like _that_ . I just– I don’t know. Is it weird that I’d like to wash your hair? Just to be close to you, and to look after you?” Martin looks like he wants to press the issue, but he doesn’t. As always these last weeks, there are bigger concerns. “It’s not a problem if you don’t want to, Jon. But even if it’s weird, could you still stay in the room? I really, _really_ hate the thought of not being able to see you.”

Jon hears Martin speak, but in his mind the question ‘ _is it weird that I’d like to wash your hair?’_ is playing on repeat. Because, weird? Maybe so, but who is Jon to judge? Especially as he’d like to do the same for Martin.

“No, that’s alright, Martin, I don’t mind– or rather, I’d like that very much– on one condition” Jon corrects himself. Specificity is important. Martin won’t agree to anything because Jon says he _doesn’t mind._ Martin once went back to the shops, all the way down the hill from the safe house, because he’d forgotten to bring Jon’s favourite tea, despite the rain, and despite the fact that Jon said he _didn’t mind_ drinking other tea. Jon had made sure to have _Martin’s_ favourite tea ready by the time he returned, and he’d stoked the fire in the tiny living room high for warmth.

“Of course, Jon, anything,” Martin nods, agreeing before even hearing Jon’s demands. His smile is a little lopsided, and Jon thinks they might both be remembering that same rainy, tea-filled afternoon.

“Only if you’ll let me wash your hair as well,” Jon smirks, a smile that Martin has described as his cat-smile. Martin laughs in response, and it echoes around the bathroom as he pulls Jon close to himself. He envelops Jon in a giant hug, towels getting squished between them.

The last time, in Scotland, had been difficult to navigate. The bathroom had been large enough, but the showerhead small, and the hot water prone to running out at the worst possible moments. This time, it’s easy, but it’s not just the spacious bathroom and the shower-that-is-almost-a-waterfall that make it easy, nor even their shared desire to be _clean._

Somehow, somewhere in the hellscapes they have traveled through, somewhere between all the horrors they’ve seen, they have grown a familiarity, and they have both stopped caring about such mundane problems as _being awkward about things._ They undress unhurriedly, leaving their clothes piled on the cupboard. They hold hands as they step under the spray, and feel the warmth wash away their grime and their worries, even for just a moment.

Jon is the first to reach for the shampoo, and gives each of the several bottles an experimental sniff, while Martin laughs and tosses water at him for being so judgmental of hair products. He ends up picking the one with the least scent, for no other reason than that it seems weird to walk back into the Apocalypse with hair smelling of roses or citrus-and-ginger.

As soon as it has been chosen Martin plucks the bottle out of his hand. He squeezes out an amount that Jon would, under any other circumstances, describe as _far_ too much, and starts massaging it into Jon’s hair. He spreads the suds down to the tips of Jon’s long hair, and then proceeds to massage his scalp for longer than any hair-cleaning could require. Jon cannot find it in himself to stop Martin, or to do anything other than soak up the heat from the shower and from Martin standing at his back. 

After a while Jon realizes that Martin isn’t going to stop, despite not yet having had the chance to wash himself. Jon shakes his head softly, and not without regret he leans away from Martin, and into the spray of water, letting it wash the soap and dirt away. “I don’t mind, you know,” Martin says with an apologetic smile. 

Jon huffs a laugh: “I got that impression, yes. But it’s your turn now. Let me look after you.” He uses Martin’s words from before on purpose, just to see the blush creep up his cheeks, as well as down his neck and all the way to his shoulders.

Martin plants a kiss on his head, and reaches for the bright green citrus-and-ginger shampoo instead. He holds it out to Jon with a smirk as Jon quirks an eyebrow at his choice. “Everyone always seems to know we’re coming; might as well tell them we’re not scared or trying to hide, right?”

Jon’s laugh echoes across the marble bathroom, and this might be more laughing than he’s done in ages, he thinks. “Quite right– an excellent choice,” he tells Martin.

Martin’s too-long curls have flattened themselves into even longer strands of hair, which try to get into his eyes as Jon shampoos them. Entirely reversing their positions doesn’t work, because Martin is quite a bit taller than Jon is. Instead of standing behind him, Jon faces Martin, arms almost hugging Martin to get to the curls at the back of his head.

Martin attempts to lean his forehead against Jon’s and they stand under the running water like that for a moment– until the soapy water starts to run into Martin’s eyes, and they quickly have to rinse it all off. At the end of it they stand there, Jon’s arms still around Martin’s shoulders and Martin’s eyes a little red, and suddenly both of them cannot stop laughing.

It takes a while before they calm down, and an even longer while before they finally decide to turn off the shower.

Stepping out of the shower Jon eyes their dirty clothes. They seem so much more disgusting now that they themselves are clean. Had they really lived in those clothes? Did they really sleep in them? It seems unthinkable to put them on now, only they have no other clothes.

He is still pondering this problem when an enormous white thing is wrapped around him by Martin- whose arms are also covered in fluffy white fabric. He hadn’t only found towels under the sink, Jon realizes– Martin found _bathrobes_.

“Let me save your hair from the treatment you usually give it, mister it’s-just-hair.” Looking up into the mirror Jon can see Martin’s eyes shining, with mischief, but also with love. “If that’s alright?” he adds, and he waits for Jon’s nod before grabbing a brush and a bottle of something that turns out to be hair oil from another cupboard.

As Jon’s previous attempts at not smelling like a perfume shop are destroyed by Martin gently brushing his hair through with the oil and pulling it into a loose braid Jon is left to stare into the mirror. Standing behind him, Martin looks peaceful, and well-rested. They hadn’t expected– any of this, really. Not this brief respite, nor for that respite to be _this_ _wonderful_. Jon doesn’t know what waits beyond their rooms, but somehow, through the simple magic of a shower, some tea, and some rest, he feels ready to face it with Martin.


	4. Breakfast with a view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little longer, because I wanted to finish my [Jonmartin vampire AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142172/chapters/63601369) first… but that fic is complete now, so we’re back to 180: fluff version!

When they return to their room someone has been there. This is obvious as soon as Jon opens the bathroom door, because sunlight is now streaming in from behind opened curtains.

Carefully, they peek around the door, spotting the room. There is no one there now. But in the time they have been in the bathroom someone came in, opened the curtains and left _something_ on top of the dresser, side by side with the tray that held their tea.

Martin barely notices it at first. As soon as he’s spied around the room and deemed it unoccupied he shuffles past Jon, and carefully approaches the window. He’s still wrapped in the fluffy bathrobe, but stepping into the sunlight feels heavenly, like their shower did. It covers him in bright, comfortable warmth. Martin steals himself, closing his eyes for a moment to soak up the heat of the sun, before looking out the window.

What he sees is unexpected in it’s normalcy. They appear to be on the front side of the House, several floors up. He can see the lawn, and the gravel path that led them up to the door.. yesterday? Was that yesterday? It’s hard to tell, but he feels like he can call that yesterday. It’s more than he’s been able to tell for so long that he barely knows what to do with the knowledge, so he focuses on the view outside instead.

Beyond the lawn is a border of trees. He remembers the trees from what-must-be-yesterday. He also remembers what came before the trees. The rolling hills, and pathways that stretch for miles, all lined with tombs and watchful stone statues. These he cannot see, even though they must be in the direction he’s looking.

A hand slides into his own, and Martin looks, and finds that Jon has joined him by the window.

“I can’t see the tombs, Jon.” Martin breathes, both worried and hopeful at once.

Jon stares out the window for a while, squinting against the sunlight, before he replies. “I cannot see them either. I cannot see beyond the trees, not in any direction.”

They stand by the window in silence, staring at this strange and normal world before them.

“The Panopticon tower has been visible the whole time, hasn’t it?” Martin wishes he could forget, could stay here forever, in this normal-world-bubble. But he cannot forget. How could he? They’ve seen so many horrors along the way. He doubts he’ll ever forget.

“It has,” Jon replies softly. “And the– the sky has always been…” He trails off, looking for the words.

“Covered in giant eyeballs?” Martin completes his sentence, trying to make it sound like a joke, and failing.

“Watching. Yes.”

“I wonder where those went… D’you think they’re actually gone here, or just– I don’t know, hidden?”

“I don’t know, Martin. But it doesn’t feel safe,” Jon answers, and Martin can only squeeze his hand in response. Because it really doesn’t feel safe, he knows that all too well. But he can hope. Hope for a safer place, hope that this is a sign that the Eye doesn’t quite rule as supreme as everyone in the World Outside seemed to think.

Jon squeezes his hand back, and tugs him away from the window. And then, Jon says the most miraculous words Martin has heard on this strange, strange day. “Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

“Breakfast??”

Jon smiles, and pushes Martin to the bed. Martin sits down, and watches Jon bring over the second mystery tray, now uncovered. It’s big, heavy and a little unwieldy, but he sets in on the bed safely.

On it, Martin sees food. A lot of food. Enough for breakfast for five people instead of two. He feels like he might be able to eat it all himself, and his stomach growls in agreement.

There are boiled eggs, and a huge pile of toast, and scones, and several kinds of jam. A bowl of fruit sits beside the toast, filled mostly with apples and pears. The next bowl has a salad dressed with something that smells like Balsamic vinegar. In the salad they find several different kinds of roasted vegetables and feta cheese and pine nuts. There is cereal, and milk– actual, fresh milk! For a moment Martin wonders if Annabelle might be keeping cows here, then giggles at the thought. At Jon’s raised eyebrow Martin explains, and soon Jon is giggling along with Martin.

It seems a strange collection for breakfast, but it smells wonderful. It’s also overwhelming. They haven’t seen any real food since finding that their pre-packaged granola bars had gone moldy within a day of starting their trek to London. Still, despite the hunger that gnaws at his stomach, and the amazing smells that fill the air, Martin worries.

“Is this safe, Jon? It wasn’t even here before.”

“It’s just as safe as the tea, Martin. Which is to say, I don’t know, but it appears safe enough, and it seems like a lot of effort to poison us with this, after allowing us to rest, and bathe…” They look at each other over the breakfast tray for a moment. Martin doesn’t like this uncertainty, but Jon isn’t wrong.

“Well. We might as well enjoy it while it lasts, I suppose?”

Jon nods in agreement: “Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn’t it funny how there’s no meat anywhere in that breakfast? Almost as if someone expected them to distrust mysteriously appearing meat.... but let’s not worry about that!


	5. Who we are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small CW for Jon being a bit out of it this chapter– not nearly as bad as in MAG181 after staying in the House for a while, but he does notice that he’s behaving unlike himself. (Unlike himself in this case meaning he’s what he himself calls “unreasonably happy”, which he then becomes confused about).

It was not just breakfast.

That is, it definitely was breakfast. A very tasty, and very filling breakfast. But with breakfast, someone had also brought in clothes. 

After finishing their meal they’d reluctantly decided they should get dressed, even though their clothes weren’t clean. They opted for the spare clothes instead of the clothes they slept in, which probably weren’t any cleaner, but would at least feel like a _change_ of clothes.

Until Jon opens the wardrobe where their backpacks had been, and finds more than just their backpacks.

In disbelief they unpack everything, checking if everything missing has been returned. Laid out on the bed are their own spare clothes (much cleaner than they were before), Jon’s missing jumper (the one Martin made him), their coats (not any cleaner than before, but several holes have been patched), and same spare clothes that are decidedly _not theirs._ The shoes, also somewhat cleaner, stand guard beside the bed.

In silence Jon and Martin look at the treasure before them.

“Those weren’t there before, right?” Martin thinks out loud. Jon shakes his head in wonder, reaching out a hand to touch his Martin-made jumper.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” The answering hum is inflected as though it might be a question, but it sure isn’t one Martin understands. Jon picks up the jumper with both hands and hugs it close, as though it might run away. He is still staring at their belongings.

He doesn’t seem unhappy, but he also doesn’t quite seem himself. Martin gingerly rests a hand on Jon’s arm. In response Jon flings both of his arms around Martin’s neck and hugs him tightly.

It takes a second for Martin to process, but he hugs Jon back anyway.

“What’s brought this on, then?”

“Hmm” Jon hums a non-answer again.

“You’re going to have to use your words, love,” Martin punctuates his statement with a kiss atop Jon’s hair.

“Ah, yes. I er–” Jon tries to step back from Martin, but Martin isn’t releasing him just yet. He’s far too glad to be able to hug Jon without having to look over his shoulder for monsters to stop hugging him anytime soon. After a few moments Jon gives up, and cranes his head to kiss Martin back.

“It’s just– Well. I’m happy our things are back, of course, but…” he takes a deep breath, confusion creating that small wrinkle in his forehead that Martin always thought was adorable. “I’m also very glad to be somewhere safe-ish, somewhere I don’t know everything? Perhaps unreasonably so.”

“That’s definitely not unreasonable!”

“No, I mean _actually_ unreasonable. As in I don't quite know why I feel this giddy over something so simple? I don’t know if I _would_ feel like this. Normally, I mean– whatever that means.”

Martin leans back a bit so he can look at Jon properly, but doesn’t let go. “‘Normally’ doesn’t mean much, Jon. It never did, not really. And you deserve to be happy,” another kiss to punctuate what he’s saying. “For any reason at all. Or for no reason, that’s alright too.”

The lines of worry soften, but do not quite go away. “It just makes me wonder… Was I like this, before? Was I ever like this? Because I feel the answer is no, but…” Jon trails off, looking for the right words. Martin waits for Jon to find them. He thinks Jon might be right, but then by the time he really got to know Jon their worlds were already busy being turned upside down. And that was before the Apocalypse. So Martin can’t say if Jon was this carefree before. He’s just glad Jon can feel that way now, even if it may only be for a short time.

“I guess what I’m wondering is whether I’ve forgotten how to be myself?”

“Oh Jon,” Martin doesn’t know what to say to that, or even how to feel about that, so all he does is hug Jon very close.

Jon continues talking, muffled slightly by Martin’s bathrobe: “But that’s not what I was thinking about. Or what I was happy about, I think. I’m– it feels very selfish, but I am so grateful that there are places where I’m not _dangerous._ ” Jon pushes back slightly, needing to look at Martin. “I don’t want to be a danger to you, Martin, and yet I am. Except here I’m not, and I’m grateful for that, because you deserve–“

“Don’t you dare, Jonathan Sims,” Martin interrupts him, has to interrupt him. This is not a line of thought Jon should be having. Not now, and not ever. “I don’t care about what I deserve, or what anyone else deserves for that matter. Hell, this _world_ doesn’t care. I _want_ to be here with you. I _chose_ to go with you– I choose it every day we’re out there. And I choose it again in this weird place too. And if you dare continue on like this _I_ will become a danger to _you._ I know exactly how ticklish you are, mister.” 

Martin makes a joke of it, but he does mean it and he knows Jon knows that too. That Martin has no Eye-given Voodoo does not mean he won’t fight for what he believes in, they both know that.

“Alright, I give up,” Jon relinquishes his hold on Martin’s neck to show his hands in surrender. He’s half-smiling– not at the joke they’re making, but in awe at Martin’s love for him. He knows that Martin would do anything to protect him, to protect them both. Sometimes he even Knows it, although Jon always fights not to Look. And though he cannot Know it here, he still feels it.

“Very well,” Martin too lets go, but only to take both of Jon’s raised hands and turn them palm up, and kiss each hand ever so gently. Each kiss whispers love and forgiveness between them. “Let’s get dressed, shall we?”

  
  



	6. +1: what we had all along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the one thing they had all along: each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re there! It took a little longer than expected, due to a case of me getting distracted by my new tma Sleeping Beauty AU, but we made it! 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to everyone who’s left kudos or comments, you absolutely make my day

Scotland, an uncertain amount of time ago:

Living together always takes work, takes time to get used to, and their choice to do so was definitely not for the usual reasons people decide to move in together. At least, Martin hopes most people don’t have to put up with cults and evil bosses and seemingly endless lines of enemies all trying to end the world in their own special way.

It takes more work than usual, probably, when you’re trying to escape from so many things. And yet, most days, it feels like no effort at all to Martin. After being in the Lonely, and more importantly, after being pulled _from_ the Lonely by Jon, it’s a blessing to not be alone. It feels like a miracle even, to get to spend this much time with Jon. Martin keeps having to remind himself that all this is real.

There are repairs that need doing around the house. Martin doesn’t know why or when Daisy might have used this place last, and Jon is making every effort not to Know. They can both tell it's been quite a while, however. So, they take stock of what needs to be done (the roof leaking rain water into the corridor first of all, and many smaller things besides), and take stock of what they need to fix it (Martin had the genius idea to include a first aid kit in that list, because it turns out that fixing a roof is not easy).

And they fix those things. It’s not a perfect job, and the kitchen door may never hang straight on its hinges, but they’re making it work, the two of them. Martin is the one who goes shopping every few days, but they share the burden of cooking (which they both like) and washing up after (which they both hate).

They’ve got savings, enough to last the winter– probably longer than that now they aren’t paying London rents. They have time to figure this out, to find the next step. And they can find it together.

Although if he’s honest, Martin wouldn’t mind if they stayed here like this for a long time. He could get used to this– already has gotten used to it, in fact. He’s gotten used to waking together, to cooking, or cleaning, or reading together.

Sometimes the first to wake –which is usually Jon– will get up and prepare breakfast, but most days they’ll stay in bed, waiting for the other to wake, or be woken with soft whispers, and kisses. Those days it can be quite hard to get out of bed. And so, sometimes they simply don’t. They stay there, in the creaking bed, and cuddle, and read, and only leave for such important things as getting tea.

No, Martin would not mind if they could stay like this forever. Together, apart from the world.

* * *

After:

Somewhere, in what used to be Scotland, under an eye-filled sky that watches their every move, except for when they hide inside the house that does not want them to leave, Jon and Martin are preparing to leave.

It’s not like they want to be Out There, want to be Seen every step they take on the however-long road back to What-Was-London. At the same time, they cannot stay here. This house is doing… something to them. Making it hard to leave, without ever feeling like the home they turned it into before… well. Before.

So, Martin has been packing. There may be no tea left, or much edible food for that matter, but staying isn’t going to change that. Might as well go.

He’s packed a change of clothes for both of them, what food he thinks could be edible, and the first aid kit they bought in case of injuries caused by repairing the house. The house, ungrateful thing that it is, that now does not want to let them from its clutches.

Both of them have barely slept, and barely eaten since this mess started– since the world ended? Martin doesn’t want to think of it as an end. It feels so… so _final_. However, their lack of sleep –the lack of need for sleep– is why he is currently debating whether or not he wants to bring their sleeping bags. Even without needing to sleep it might be nice to be comfortable, at least? To take a nap somewhere that isn’t solid ground?

He’s still standing in the cramped bedroom, sleeping bags in hand, when Jon walks in. The bedroom was never large, and doesn’t seem to have changed dimensions (after all, the furniture still fits just fine), but the space still manages to feel too small for the both of them. Martin just has time to think he should leave, and let Jon have a nap, when Jon solves the space-problem by lifting one of Martin’s arms and attaching himself to Martin’s side, letting the arm fall over his own shoulders in an instant hug.

He muffles a command that is more a question into Martin’s jumper: “Stay.”

And Martin does, moving only to wrap a second arm around Jon, and pulling him even closer. It’s such a simple action, such a simple solution to the problem, and yet so elegant. They’ll find a way to do this, they’ll find their way back to London even if the world fights them every step of the way. Just like they can fight this house that tries to separate them. They can do this, together.

* * *

Even longer ago, on a train bound for Scotland:

Outside his window the landscape is rolling past, each view of field and village and forest indistinguishable from the next, visibility made worse by spells of rain, and approaching dusk. The carriage is mostly empty, and has been getting steadily more so with every stop along the way. It is, quite frankly, a very dull journey. Jon is grateful for this.

Jon looks at Martin, asleep beside him on the seat despite the too-loud noise of the train around him. His head is resting on Jon’s shoulder, curls partially hiding his face from Jons view. What they do not hide is the tiny, pleased smile Martin wears in his sleep, and the soft, content noises he emits when he moves closer to Jon.

Jon cannot recall the last time he’s seen Martin look this happy, or this relaxed.

They’re out. It feels unbelievable, but Jon knows (and Knows) it to be true. They’re escaping, leaving all of the terror, and the mess, and the madness behind. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there is a voice trying to tell him that they’re running away, and that they should have stayed to face the music, or maybe to help. But here, with Martin asleep against him, it doesn’t feel like running.

After everything, after witnessing the Lonely, after seeing Elias–Jonah, Jon has to correct himself, the thought too strange even now– after seeing the failed attempt at the Watcher’s Crown. After getting away from all of that? It feels almost like winning.

Only almost, after everything they’ve seen, and been forced to do, and everything they've been put through. But he’ll take this almost-victory. They’ll take this peace that is being given to them. This isn’t running away, Jon thinks, this is respite. It’s a chance for them both to have something new, something good. Jon hopes it’s a chance for them to be together, as Martin sleepily raises his head, and looks at Jon. He’s very close, like this.

Martin raises a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, and look out the window, at the rolling fields and forests dotted with distant villages. “ ‘We almost there yet?”

And Jon cannot stop himself. He actively does not _want_ to stop himself. He leans in and kisses Martin’s forehead, where the curls still stick to his face from being flattened against Jon’s shoulder.

“Not yet, Martin. Several hours still to go; go get some more sleep.”

Martin blinks, sleep not yet completely gone from his eyes, but now mixed with something like surprise, but softer. He mouths an inaudible “oh”, then speaks up to say: “Okay... I– thank you, Jon.” Then he leans up a bit, and looks Jon in the eyes for a moment, appearing to seeking permission, or waiting for refusal. Jon can only sit there, frozen, as he feels Martin’s breath ghost across his face. Whatever Martin sees there seems to be enough of an answer, as he leans in and closes the small distance left between them.

Jon’s kiss was a quick peck, nothing very special. Martin’s answer is slow, and searing, and still a little messy with sleep, and Jon thinks it’s the best kiss ever. It lasts only a few endless moments, before Martin settles back in his spot, returning his head to the warm place in the crook of Jon’s neck. His curls cannot quite hide the blush creeping up his face. Jon hopes there will be more moments like this when they arrive in Scotland. Together.

  
  


* * *

  
On the road:

They are nowhere.

They’ve been walking for… who even knows. Martin keeps finding himself trying to assign time periods to their journey, however incorrect they may be. He’s been measuring domains in days, sort of. It’s hard to keep track in this broken world, to remember which horrors they came across first, and which last. Still, the last domain they crossed counts as “yesterday” Martin has decided. And until they reach a new domain he can think of that space as “tomorrow”. Right now, they're not in either of those, and so Martin thinks of this as “night”.

The first time they reached one of these spaces, one of the pockets between the terrors, Martin thought it must be a domain of the Dark, or perhaps the Lonely. It is certainly very dark here, and he can see how one might feel Alone in what looks to be an endless night time wasteland of rolling hills with nothing but dried up grass and parched plants. For every hill they crest, more seem to rise beyond it, until one can believe there is nothing in the world beyond this hollow place.

He grew used to it, even; in that cold, Lonely way, where he can accept that this is all there is. For if this emptiness is all there is, at least there will not be a new horror, there will be no new suffering. Only that familiar, aching, echoing feeling of– “Martin?”

Jon is ahead of him, almost atop the hill they’re climbing, and looking back downhill at Martin, concern clear on his face. Martin blinks, once, twice, and shakes his head, trying to get rid of the daze. “I’m sorry, Jon–“ he tries to say, but Jon holds up a hand, stopping his words, refusing the apology.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Martin,” Jon makes his way back down the hill, to Martin. “I know I’ve said that before, but I will say it as often as I must. Don’t apologize for what this awful place does– for what any of these bloody places do,” reaching Martin, he takes both of his hands in his own. He tugs Martin close, and has to stand on the tips of his toes to plant a kiss on Martin’s nose. Then he tugs Martin off the path, and sits them both down on a knoll of earth so dry it seems to groan under their collective weight.

“I think it’s time to take a break,” Jon announces after they sit. He then does exactly what he did once upon a time (forever ago, it seems) in the safe house: he lifts Martin’s arm, and hugs himself close to Martin’s side. Martin cannot suppress the smile that creeps on his face at Jon’s actions, and hugs him close in wordless reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more fic on the spaces between domains, I have for you “Shape without form, shade without colour” based on the poem “the Hollow Men”, by T.S. Elliot, which you can find [right here on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815489)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think, I absolutely love hearing from you guys!


End file.
